Black Ice
by NightLark
Summary: Pitch found a way to get his strength back. By kidnapping children and dragging them to his darkened lair. But one child didn't succumb to the darkness like the others and remained in the lair for years, screaming for help. Her screams are now silent, but they never stopped.
1. Chapter 1

It started off as an accident. Pitch was hungry and the girl fell down the hole into his lair. He couldn't help it that she was afraid of the dark, afraid of the pain, afraid of the dark shadow that swept towards her as she lay dying. He didn't know that the fear of a dying child is stronger than the fear of a child alone, a child in bed at night. As he advanced on her, eyes aglow with curiosity and savage hunger he'd felt since he'd been banished from the world. The fear was intoxicating, rich and inviting and he couldn't help but advancing. It had been so long since he'd felt the fear of a child, felt their eyes on him and actually seeing him.

The girl had quickly died, whether from fear, cold or her injuries from the fall Pitch didn't know or care. He'd seen something in her eyes. He'd seen opportunity.

He'd moved slowly so as to avoid detection by the Guardians, luring a stray child into his lair every so often. As he'd grown stronger and rumours had spread, he could leave his lair and prowl the streets searching for those with the most fear. He also learnt that this way he could keep them for longer, terrorising them until the fear was strongest. Of course, some died of fear. Others adjusted to his presence and had to be disposed of which was mildly irritating. But it was working and that was enough for him. He was on his way back up.

Pitch prowled the darkening streets, sticking to the shadows. It was early evening and the older children were still playing in the streets. The younger children where inside, preparing for bed. Pitch smirked at the thought of the fun he would have tonight. His hold on the world had got much stronger over the past years and so far he'd had no interaction with any of the Guardians fortunately. Not that he was afraid of them; he just wanted to be at peak strength when the time inevitably came for him to face them once again.  
Pitch's eyes landed on a small child seated on the porch. As he watched her, she turned her head to look at him and she paled slightly. He quickly whisked himself out of sight. His speciality was mind tricks and it wasn't as if his visage was particularly terrifying. Still, he stayed close. The girl ran inside. His smile grew. She was perfect for his needs. She would become his next little plaything.

He waited for night to fall completely, idly toying with his dark sand and sending nightmares scattering off in various directions as a source of amusement. The golden sand of the sandman began to drift down from the sky and he scowled at the sight of it. He decided he'd waited long enough and drifted like a shadow through the crack in the upstairs windows. It didn't take him long to find the little girl's bedroom. She was tucked up in her bed, her nightlight casting shadowy shapes on the wall. Pitch smirked. He liked shadows. He tossed a handful of dream sand at the girl, polluting her pleasant dreams with fiendish nightmares guaranteed to disturb her senses. He watched as her peaceful expression tightened and became strained as fear took hold of her. After a few moments of tossing and turning she vaulted upright with a small scream. She took a look around her room, clutching her blankets close to herself, as she started to reassure herself that it was just a dream. He waited until reassurance and the sensation of safety had set in once more, then he clicked his fingers and the nightlight went out. He smirked. He liked darkness even more than shadows. He heard her breathing spike and her fear washed over him, delicious and strengthening. He laughed coldly and swept towards her. He gently trailed his fingers across her arms, delighting in the sensation of the restored physical contact. She had her eyes screwed shut and was murmuring under her breath, most likely some variation of 'there's nothing there' or 'it's just a dream'. The girl's head turned slowly and her eyes opened. She lifted her gaze and looked him square in the eye. An evil curl came to his mouth.

"Boo." She screamed. That was all he needed. He seized hold of her and launched them both out of the window, into the darkness. The girl was squirming and crying in his arms but he paid no attention to her as he soared back to his lair. When he pulled the girl out from the shadows of his cloak, she had fallen silent. He wondered if she'd passed out but her eyes were wide and fearful, watching him. He smiled to himself as he pushed her into one of the giant bird cages that hung from the roof of the cavern.

"Welcome to your new home little one." The girl could only whimper softly and hide her face from him.

Time passed, as time always will. For Pitch it felt like both an age and a second. He relished each passing minute, hour, day, in which he would grow stronger. Not just from his captive but from the world around growing more fearful with every lost child, every horror story. But the girl's continued presence did help. He was surprised and bemused by her resistance to everything she was put through. All the others had succumbed long before this point yet she continued to endure. He took to releasing her from the cage and letting her stumble around the tunnels in fear until she collapsed in fear and exhaustion. Yet, she never ran when she was released unless he chased her and forced her to flee. So after a while he just stopped bothering. And years passed. She became a permanent fixture in his lair, always silent as her screams had long since ceased and no further sound passed her lips. Sometimes he would even forget she was there until he almost stumbled over her in the tunnels or he found her curled up in the chamber he had fashioned to resemble a bedroom for her. Somewhere along the way, she began to draw comfort from him. She was still scared, still feeding him with every tremble and cringe, yet she would rather be terrified ten times over then be alone. And Pitch allowed it because...it felt good to be seen again.

**A/N: Okay, i don't normally write stories for animated films or anything that doesn't involve vamps/wolves but I really enjoyed the film and I LOVE Pitch. So, what I'm going to do is post this and let you decide if I should continue it, scrap it or brand it as a random one shot. So, let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just saying, this is not an OC/Pitch love story. Pitch may feel something for the girl but it is not love, it is closer to obsession. **

* * *

The girl sat cross-legged in the shadows, nearly obscured from view. A nightmare lay patiently beside her. The girl's hand idly stroked the shadowy creature as if it were a pet, drawing some semblance of comfort from the action. There was a cold rush of wind and Pitch solidified in the centre of the chamber. He didn't notice her, or if he did he didn't signify his recognition. He seemed to be distracted by something, his eyes fixed on the golden globe the dominated the space. He let out an irritated noise and turned away from it. The nightmare stirred, head raised, letting out a soft noise. Pitch's eyes found the haunted hazel ones that watched his every move. Every time he looked at her it struck him how much time had passed. She had grown, as children did, into the body of an adolescent, yet it wasn't the normal sort. It was stunted, like a plant grown in shadows. Her skin was pale and fragile from lack of sunlight, her hair a limp shadow. Her body was diminutive, short and dangerously skinny, trapped somewhere between childhood and womanhood. She wore only a grey tattered dress

As he watched her, the girl gathered a handful of black sand from the nightmare beside her and breathed softly onto it. It rose from her hand, animated in the shape of a dark butterfly which fluttered over to Pitch. He caught it between his fingers and examined it. It wasn't the onyx colour of his sand, nor the gold of the sandman. It was a strange mix of blue and purple with the occasional streak of gold shooting across the ever shifting surface. A night sky just before dawn came to mind. He wondered what it meant. She could control his nightmares, certainly. He'd been aware of that for a short time now; she'd made no attempt to hide it. Was her fear waning? Pitch knelt beside the girl, holding the butterfly gently in the cage of his fingers where it fluttered frantically, trying to get free from him.

"Such a pretty little thing. Is it for me?" she nodded tentatively. "Well now, a gift like that deserves one in return." The girl's face became scared in anticipation of the 'gift' he would impart on her. He knew the signs. Every child was different but beneath it was all the same. The trembling of the parted lips, the ragged irregular breathing, the wide frantic doe eyes. He laughed softly and released the butterfly, letting it flutter off into the darkness of the cave. She watched it go, a whisper of longing on her lips. He gently ran one long finger across her cheek, drawing a shudder from her. "You're growing older. Most adults don't believe in the bogeyman" His hand drew down to her neck, tracing the bluish veins that lingered there. "What are we going to do about that?" The girl pressed herself against the stone wall as if hoping it would absorb her into it and free her from the terror about to be inflicted on her. The shadows in the cave seemed to spread like ink, flowing towards her and Pitch. She pulled her legs up so they were pressed tight against her as Pitch continued to gently caress her face and neck. The shadows began to creep up her legs, a soft stinging sensation accompanying their presence. She bit her lip hard, a single drop of blood blossoming on the reddened kiss, refusing to give even the slightest whimper of discomfort to him. He ran his thumb across her lower lip, smearing the blood across the digit, before licking it up. He knew she wouldn't scream, although he did deeply enjoy trying. In the end he settled for a gasp, a whimper, an expression, anything that would prove to him he had won, he had ownership over this girl, complete control. He could caress or he could break, hold or destroy. It was all down to him.

The shadows spread over her lower body, a living pulsating being almost. They wriggled into every crevice, every pore of her skin. The girl felt her legs go limp and they slipped down to lay in front of her. She tried to pull them back but they were held by the dark bonds and every movement of hers forced a crushing pressure on her fragile limbs, relenting only when she fell still and beginning again the second tension entered her muscles. Pitch's hand ghosted down her cheek, her neck, to rest on her newly developed buds of womanhood stretching out the fabric of her dress. He had never been this close to a girl before, not one of this age. He'd of course been aware of her changes but never really taken time to notice them before. She was no beauty by conventional standards but there was something appealing about her innocent, terrified face and her waifish body. Now he was so close to her, he felt a desire to see more, touch more. His hand skimmed downwards, brushing her waist, her hip, before reaching the shadows. As he approached, they receeded once again. She let out a soft exhalation of relief, her legs already aching from the force they had endured, however brief. Pitch paused and pulled back. Ordinarily, this was where these games would end. Her surrender, her relief, they were signs that he was in control and he allowed whatever relief she experienced, she was dependant on him. However, today this sparked an irritational anger in the dark man, for he was a man at heart however ruined he may be. Her resistance usually was long, drawn out before an inevitable and heartrenching climax. That was what made the game exciting for him. Why should now be different, when he so wanted to explore her further? He considered disregarding his games for something different but he caught sight of the look of hope, almost expectant in his captive's eyes. She knew his games too by now, and she fought, not out of stubbornness, but out of a long ingrained determination to survive. She knew how far to go before she yielded, knew that if she drew it out too long he may grow bored and dispose of her. She knew he would stop when she surrendered, he always did. That look ignited a fire in Pitch unlike anything he'd ever felt, even more than his anger at the loathsome guardians and his desire for revenge at being cast out. How dare she presume to know him? How dare she toy with him when she was his plaything?

He stood up, distancing himself from her. The shadows seemed to amass at his feet, like faithful hounds waiting instructions. He rubbed his finger softly against the pad of his thumb for a moment, watching the girl. The hope was beginning to die in her eyes as she saw the change in mood and it was replaced by slowly rising fear, fear of the unknown. She had never encounted him like this and had no idea what to expect, no way to prepare herself for whatever enslaught he would unleash.

Pitch clicked his fingers. The shadows rushed forward, spreading and winding quickly over her limbs, twisting around her as she thrashed and clawed at the darkness, the walls, her own flesh in a desperate attempt to be free of it. First her legs, then her torso and then her arms fell prey. All were held still by the invading pressure and the sharp pains of the roaming darkness. But still, the darkness continued, seeking out an entrance, a home that was equally as dark as them. They twisted up her throat, shortening her breath as they tightened, then released. She realized their destination a second ahead of time and clamped her lips shut along with her eyes, so that she wouldn't be scared by whatever fantasy Pitch created to elicite a silent scream from her. The invading tendrils tried to pry it open but quickly switched tact, worming their way up her nostrils. Her eyes flew open as the air was cut off. Her nose burned, like acid eating into her flesh and flowing through her veins. Her lungs ached for oxygen, but still she fought on. Her eyes met his, pleading with him to stop this but he was impassive. She felt warm liquid seeping from her nostrils. Everything was building. The pressure, the pain, the need for air. She wanted to surrender, her survival instincts were screaming at her to do so, but she struggled against them. Her vision blurred and faded, bright dots of light flashing in front of her eyes. She heard a sharp crack as her body moved and the darkness tightened it's grasp, snapping a bone. She didn't know where, everything hurt too much to tell. But it was the final straw. Her mouth opened in a frenzied gasp. The shadows lunged, flowing down her throat and into her body. She choked, unable to scream even if she wanted to. All that came out was a stifled, gurgled sob. She felt a sharp pain around her heart, like it was being squeezed in a vice. Her body couldn't handle it anymore. The pain was too much. She went limp, shutting down, the cave fading into nothing around her.

Pitch watched coldly, summoning the darkness away from the girl a few moments later. No need to kill her, despite how close he'd let them get. She was strewn in the corner like a rag doll, dark marks marring her pale flesh where the shadows had burnt her flesh. Her veins were black, stark against her skin as traces of the darkness flowed through her veins. Her nose was bleeding, and a little trickled from her open mouth, her eyes were open and vacant. He picked her up, cradling her tenderly. She was still alive. The hummingbird thrum of her heartbeat was still present. He carried her into the darkened recesses of the cave, where a mattress was placed. He lay her there, softly brushing a stray hair from her face and he felt his lips curl into something that might have been considered a smile.

* * *

Miles away, in the arctic wastelands, a boy slumbered on the ledge of a frost covered window, his hood tucked neatly over his white hair, a staff nestled in the crook of his arms. Dark sand trickled through the window frame, forming a butterfly on the other side. The butterfly alighted on the boy's ear. His peaceful expression changed slowly, first to disturbed, then to fear, then to terror. His eyes flew open and his body lurched. His eyes darted around the room, searching, searching for the source of the scream that rang loudly and clearly in his ears. There was nothing. He stood, the scream fading, and glittering black dust rained from his hoodie.


End file.
